


To Steal a Car

by RunningNinja



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Galaxy Garrison, Gen, Keith (Voltron) Angst, POV Keith (Voltron), not-so-joy riding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-15
Updated: 2018-09-15
Packaged: 2019-07-12 13:34:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15996266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RunningNinja/pseuds/RunningNinja
Summary: “Keith? He’s a bit of a discipline case.” I heard them. I always heard what they said about me. No one cares about me, not really. Especially not this Shiro. So he probably won’t care if I steal his car.





	To Steal a Car

**Author's Note:**

> Slight spoiler warning for s7 ep1. Trigger warning for auto theft, and housefires, if that’s not your thing. Also, not-so-joy riding.

“Keith? He’s a bit of a discipline case. I don’t necessarily think he’d fit in with the rigid Garrison culture.”  
  
My hands go knuckle white on the joystick. Too tight to maneuver. One asteroid and I don’t duck.  
  
“This is James Griffin. He has the highest grades in school—“  
  
“SIMULATION FAILED.”  
  
I need to get out, need to pilot something that moves.  
  
I jump out of the simulator and into the car. Stealing Shiro’s car is easy. It’s just a Garrison car for towing the simulator, doesn’t have a personalized key, only an on button. So, this isn’t real theft: it takes only daring, not cunning.  
  
I hit the ignition hard and the car revs to life. I slam the gas to the floor and tear out of the parking lot. Where am I going? The same place I always go. I peel away from the streets and off the road. The desert. The tread on the wheels cuts through the dry dirt and lifts it up. Finally, as the sounds of school and people fade behind me, I can think. I let out a breath.  
  
Teacher probably thought I couldn’t hear her. But I always hear what they say about me. “Discipline case.” “Lost cause.” “Fights too much.” “Runs away too much.” “Won’t apply himself.” And, worst of all, “We just can’t handle him.”  
  
My pop always said that where God didn’t give me patience, he gave me the goddamn sharpest ears known to mankind.  
  
I’m no good at studying, no good at grades. I don’t care, because nobody cares about me. Not even this Shiro will care, when he hears my track record. So he probably won’t care that I’ve stolen his car. Well, that’s not really true. People usually care about their stolen property. It’s a pretty nice car. Steady, well taken care of: everything I’m not.  
  
I watch the desert, stretched out golden in front of me. I probably shouldn’t have stolen Shiro’s car. I just needed to clear my head.  
  
If my dad was here, he could have talked me down. But he’s not. So I’ll chase his ghost. I grit my teeth and press the gas to the floor again, feeling those tires shred the dirt.  
  
My pop was always a hero. Everyone told him not to go back into that burning building. But he did. He went after me.  
  
The desert begins to blur.  
  
He grabbed me from the upstairs bedroom before I could grab the knife. I was kicking and screaming as he hauled me down the stairs. The stairs that collapsed beneath us, burying us in rubble and ashes. I tried to climb out, but he pulled me under him. Sheltered me when the beam fell on us.  
  
I never would have forgiven myself it that had been the fire that killed him.  
  
He was pretty beat up but breathing when another firemen pulled us both out. I was fine, just a little singed, and he wasn’t even mad. I screwed my face up but I still couldn’t stop crying. Days later my dad took us back to the remains of our house. We had almost nothing left, but the shack next door was untouched. And amid the ashes, a glittering blade. Whatever it was made of, fire couldn’t destroy that knife. “Our family is fireproof, son,” my dad said, smiling.  
  
He meant it lightly, but those words killed me the day he died, running back into that collapsing apartment to save those people. I guess we weren’t that fireproof. No one could comfort me, and no one could pry that knife from my hands when they took me to the station.  
  
My first foster parents never really liked me. It wasn’t their fault. I made them nervous. And they couldn’t keep driving out into the desert at night to pick me up when I ran away. They had adult things, like jobs. So they dropped me off at the home with the other boys who couldn’t fit in.  
  
I was a little too emo for adoption, you could say. A little too brittle and brooding. But like my pop said, I had the goddamn sharpest ears known to man where I didn’t have common sense.  
  
So I definitely heard them with those ears. I heard Shiro.  
  
“Is that kid on the list? He looks about ready to fly the real thing.” Finally good at something. Finally recognized for it. I liked this Shiro. Maybe he wasn’t all talk. Maybe I could make the same list as that Griffin.  
  
“Keith? He’s a bit of a discipline case.” Grip stiff, wrist locked, focus lost. “I don’t think he would fit in with the rigid Garrison culture. This is James Griffin--” I see the asteroid before it hits me. “SIMULATION FAILED.” I could have done it. I lost focus. I lost my chance. I just needed to get out.  
  
Now, desert, stretching out before me. Wind blowing, engine whirring, breath settling.  
  
Screw Griffin. Screw Griffin and his two parents. Screw teacher who doesn’t care. Screw the home and the social workers that don’t care. They say they care but they all go home to families at the end of the day, and I never do. Screw the mom who left me. Dad…  
  
My chest gets tight. Grief. The counselor said it just comes up sometimes, you can’t help it, that it gets easier but never really goes away. But my dad went away. He went away forever.  
  
Far behind me, flashing blue and red. And nowhere to hide on this stretch of desert. Lost chance. My grip goes knuckle-white on the steering. I floor it, but this is just a transport tow rig and not meant for racing cops. That Shiro, I stole his car. I screwed up. I should just go to juvie already. That’s what they’ve all been threatening me with. “Shape up or you’ll just end up in the system.”  
  
I’m already in the system.  
  
“No, the criminal justice system. It’s a lot worse than the foster system, kid. Don’t get caught up in trouble. Your dad was a good man.”  
  
My vision goes bleary. My pop wouldn’t want this. He wouldn’t. And if I had a mom she wouldn’t either. And that Shiro wouldn’t want this. He’d probably want his car back. Well, he’ll get it back. Cops return lost things. Just not lost mothers, not lost fathers.  
  
My hands are so tight around the wheel I can’t loosen them. I don’t see it, but there’s a rock in the path. It hits the wheel and tilts the car. I correct it, land back on four wheels, skidding, braking. Kicking up a cloud of dust, which shrouds me for a moment. Shiro’s car skids to a halt. The cops get closer. Engine still running, I don’t move.  
  
I just want to be found.

**Author's Note:**

> Funny story, I wrote most of this while on hold with a fingerprinting company. I guess the angst transferred. Lol. Hope you enjoyed it! This is the first Voltron fic I’ve ever written. Introspective first person isn’t my normal, but I wanted to tell the story from Keith’s perspective. Let me know what you think!


End file.
